


In the Interest of Interhouse Cooperation

by firethesound



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 8th year, Duelling, First Kiss, Hogwarts Era, M/M, Room of Requirement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 13:43:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1389856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firethesound/pseuds/firethesound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Organizing a Duelling Club was supposed to be a fun extracurricular activity for Harry’s 8th year. But add in Draco Malfoy and a malfunctioning Room of Requirement, and things can’t help but get complicated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Interest of Interhouse Cooperation

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Notes:** Thank you to **catplusfox** , for being the best cheerleader-slash-beta a gal could ask for. Your enthusiasm makes all this possible. Thank you to **zeitgeistic** , for the lovely fine-tuning you gave this, for helping me weed out all those pesky commas, and for your invaluable input on what ruins the lines of wizarding fashion. And most of all, thank you to Birds, for being such a pleasure to write for. I tried to hit everything you asked for, and couldn’t help adding in a few more things I hope you’ll like. I really hope you’ll have as much fun reading this as I had writing it.

At first, Harry was sure he’d misheard. Even when the shocked look on Malfoy’s face confirmed it, he couldn’t help but ask, “Sorry, Professor, what was that?”

McGonagall frowned, her mouth tightening into a disapproving line, and she peered at him over the wire rims of her spectacles. “I said,” she repeated, “that I’ve approved your request to start a Duelling Club, with the caveat that Mr. Malfoy be the one to run it with you.”

Well. That was exactly what he’d heard the first time, only hearing it twice didn’t seem any more plausible.

“But,” Harry said, “Ron and Hermione are going to run it with me.”

“I’ve already spoken with Mr Weasley and Miss Granger,” McGonagall said. “And it has been decided that with their prefect duties, they don’t need to take on any additional responsibilities at this time.”

“But,” Harry said, “That doesn’t mean Malfoy needs to help with it.” Malfoy sneered at him. Harry ignored it. “Malfoy _hates_ me,” he continued, as if it were somehow possible that McGonagall hadn’t picked up on that after seven years of mutual animosity between the two of them. “He doesn’t want to run a club with me.”

“I’m right here, Potter,” Malfoy said, sneering. “I can speak for myself.”

“Well, then.” McGonagall turned to Malfoy. “Do you object to running the Duelling Club with Mr Potter?”

Malfoy went silent for a long moment, clearly thinking it over. And that confused Harry, because what did Malfoy have to think about? _Of course_ he didn’t want to run the club with Harry; he wanted nothing to do with Harry, unless it involved breaking his nose, and even then only on occasion.

So it was that much more of a shock when Malfoy finally said, “No, Professor, I’ve no objections to working with Potter.”

Harry whipped around to stare at him. “ _What?_ ”

“Very well,” McGonagall went on, ignoring his outburst. “As Mr Malfoy has now agreed—”

Harry’s stomach went fluttery with sudden panic. The Duelling Club was supposed to be a fun version of the DA, spending time with students and teaching them how to be better at defensive spells without the threat of a war looming over them all, not something that forced him to spend time with Malfoy. Malfoy wasn’t supposed to have anything to do with it. “But I haven’t—”

“Mr Potter,” she said sharply, cutting him off. “I’m afraid I wasn’t asking your opinion on the matter. Running the Duelling Club with Mr Malfoy will be an excellent opportunity for the two of you to put your differences behind you and set a strong example of interhouse cooperation for the rest of the school. The war is over; it’s time we all began acting like it.”

“But…” Harry said weakly. He didn’t want to run a club with Malfoy. He looked at Malfoy, who was watching him warily, as if he expected rejection. Harry glared at him and sighed. “Fine.”

“Wonderful,” said McGonagall. “Now, I imagine you’ll have quite a lot to discuss with each other, settling all the details. Come see me for final approval when you’ve got everything organized.”

He could recognize an implicit dismissal when he heard one. Sighing again, Harry stood and left with Malfoy close behind him.

“Why are you really doing this?” Harry demanded as soon as the door to the Headmistress’s office had shut behind them.

“What makes you think I’m doing it for some ulterior motive?” Malfoy asked, still sneering faintly.

“Because you’re a Slytherin,” Harry said. “And I’ve known you for seven years. You never do anything without a reason that’ll benefit you.”

Malfoy just shrugged one shoulder. “Well, congratulations. You’ve got me there,” he said dryly. “I’m using you, Potter. Is that what you want to hear? Being seen running a club with Gryffindor’s Golden Boy will make _me_ look good by association.” He shrugged again. “That, and I’ve been instructed in the art of proper duelling technique since I was old enough to hold a wand. I don’t trust you to be able to teach something you don’t even understand properly.”

There, that was more like it.

“I understood duelling well enough to fight Voldemort and walk away from it,” Harry said, and was pleased by how Malfoy still flinched at the name.

“There’s a difference between fighting and duelling,” Malfoy said, his lip curling. “Not that I’d expect someone like you to understand. Anyone can be good at fighting, but duelling is an _art_.”

“Do you have any idea what a pretentious twat you sound like?” Harry asked.

“And do you have any idea what an uneducated philistine you are? Or do you even know what that means? I’d be glad to wait if you’d like to get your little Mu…” Malfoy was smirking as he broke off and coughed once, very deliberately, before he continued, “ _Muggleborn_ friend to translate for you.”

And even though the sparkle in Malfoy’s eyes paired up with that self-satisfied smirk told Harry he was deliberately being wound up, he couldn’t stop his temper from flaring. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you. After everything that’s happened, you still haven’t changed.”

“You don’t know anything about me, Potter.”

“And from what little you’ve shown me, I bloody well don’t want to!”

“Well, like it or not, you’re going to. We’re stuck with each other. So unless you’d like to forget about your precious little club entirely, I suggest you learn to deal with it.” Malfoy raised his eyebrows in challenge.

Harry swallowed back a sharp retort. He drew in a slow, deep breath, held it for a count of five, and let it go. He unclenched his fists. And when he spoke, his voice was calm and even. “I suppose we should work out a schedule, then. How about after dinner on Tuesdays and Thursdays?” He was pleased with how reasonable he sounded. Not at all like he wanted to knock Malfoy’s teeth in.

Malfoy shook his head. “Slytherin Quidditch practice is on Thursday evenings. Tuesdays and Fridays?”

Harry thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Wonderful,” Malfoy said shortly. “I’ll see you on Tuesday. We’ll work out the particulars then and report back to McGonagall after.”

And he walked off without another word.

Sighing, Harry turned to go back to Gryffindor Tower. He needed to have a nice long chat with his two so-called _friends_ for not warning him about McGonagall’s plans.

* * *

“Are you sure you don’t want us to go with you?” Ron asked for what felt like the dozenth time.

“No,” Harry said. “It’s fine.”

“You’re not still upset with us, are you?” Hermione put in. “Because we’ve explained already, McGonagall asked us not to say anything to you until she had a chance to—”

“No,” Harry said again. “It’s fine. Really.” He didn’t particularly want to rehash that conversation again right now, especially not when he had a whole evening of Malfoy ahead of him. He was pretty sure he could feel a headache coming on.

The vague pressure just above his eyes only intensified when he walked down to the Room of Requirement and Malfoy immediately sniped at him for being late.

Harry ignored him in favor of looking around the room. Malfoy had set it up with a large open space, a large stack of padded mats waiting to be spread over the floor, and a wide variety of targets, and he found himself nodding in approval. Though the layout was different, it had all of the same basic equipment that Harry had used for his DA meetings. The stack of mats lay against the left wall, and the targets sat in a row against the right. A long mirror took up the wall directly across from the door.

“I think the room is malfunctioning,” Malfoy said.

Harry frowned and looked around again. Everything seemed to be in order. “Why do you say that?”

“This isn’t quite what I asked it for,” Malfoy said. “It gave me everything I wanted, but nothing is set up.”

“Afraid to do a little work?” Harry asked and rolled his eyes. He flicked his wand, and the top mat from the stack sailed across the room and unfolded itself neatly on the floor.

“Of course not,” Malfoy scoffed. “But this isn’t what I asked it for.”

“You probably weren’t concentrating properly,” Harry said. He flicked his wand again and a second mat joined the first.

“That’s not—” Malfoy began, but cut himself off when a pair of sixth year Hufflepuff girls walked into the room.

Harry let himself have a small sigh of relief just before he greeted them. He’d been a little afraid that no one would show up, especially once word got around that Malfoy would be involved. He found himself surprised when Malfoy greeted both of them by name, and his surprise edged toward shock when both girls smiled and greeted Malfoy back.

They wandered off to the other side of the room to talk about how far away the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year was, and Harry turned to Malfoy and found him scowling.

“What’s wrong with you?” Malfoy demanded in a furious whisper. “For a moment you looked like you thought I might try to _Crucio_ them.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve tried to do that to a fellow student,” Harry said before he could stop himself.

Malfoy went very white, then flushed pink with anger. “And need I remind you what _you_ did in response?” he hissed, and before Harry could say anything else, Malfoy turned away from him and greeted the Ravenclaw boy who’d just walked into the room.

Harry glared at his back and refused to feel guilty. There’d been a war on, and Malfoy had tried to _Crucio_ him, and he hadn’t known what that spell would do. But, a small voice in the back of his brain whispered to him, you never even apologized, did you? Harry turned away from Malfoy and used his wand to send the mats sailing across the room to spread themselves over the floor while more and more students showed up.

“I suppose we should get started?” Malfoy asked after a while.

“Whatever you’d like,” Harry said. “Should we split them up in pairs or let them choose their own partners, d’you think?”

Malfoy looked at him as if he’d gone mad. “We’re not going to start them duelling each other today, Potter. We haven’t even discussed the basics of duelling etiquette, or duelling history, or laid out the club’s rules, or—”

“This isn’t a _class_ , Malfoy,” Harry said. “We’re not going to start them off with some boring lecture.”

“So you suggest we just allow them to start waving their wands around at each other? That’s dangerous.”

Harry folded his arms over his chest. “Some people learn best by doing.”

“You do, perhaps, but not everyone else does,” Malfoy said. “Others learn best with a theoretical foundation upon which to build their practical education.”

“How about a compromise, then?” Harry asked, twirling his wand between his fingers. “A practical demonstration. You and me.”

Malfoy sneered at him. “You won’t goad me into duelling you.”

“Why?” Harry asked, and tried out a smirk. “Scared, Malfoy?”

Malfoy’s sneer intensified. “I’m not twelve years old, Potter. You won’t manipulate me that easily.”

Harry snorted. “Right. Of course,” he said with a shrug.

“I mean it, Potter,” Malfoy snapped.

“I heard you,” Harry said and turned his back on him because nothing arsed off Malfoy faster than being dismissed and ignored. He clapped his hands briskly. “All right, let’s begin. I’m so glad to see so many of you here today. I’m Harry Potter, and this is Malfoy, and we’ll be your instructors for Duelling Club. Now, I thought we’d start off with a practical demonstration of the proper way to duel—”

“I said I wouldn’t—” Malfoy began.

Harry talked over him. “—so I’m going to need a partner. Do I have any volunteers?”

A young Ravenclaw girl raised her hand, and Harry sighed. She couldn’t be more than a third year. But instead of volunteering, as he’d expected, she asked, “If Malfoy’s our other instructor, shouldn’t he be the one to demonstrate with you?”

“An excellent question,” Harry said, biting back a grin. “And I’m sure he’s got his reasons. Now—”

“Why?” the girl asked, peering curiously at Malfoy. “Is he scared of duelling you?”

Harry could have kissed her. “Well, I’m not sure I’d say that he’s _scared_ …”

“Bloody hell,” Malfoy snarled. “Fine, Potter. All right, you lot, make room. Back up there, no, a little more…”

Harry looked down to hide his smile as Malfoy cleared a large space in the center of the room, the two dozen students forming a loose ring around it. He and Harry moved to stand in the middle.

“You see, in a formal duel both opponents start in the center, back to back. By placing my back to Potter, I am telling him that I trust him to remain honorable through the duel and follow the rules,” Malfoy said, his voice taking on a brisk and lofty tone. Somehow, Harry had managed to forget how much Malfoy enjoyed the sound of his own voice. No wonder he’d wanted to start off with a lecture. “And then we walk away from each other for ten paces.”

Obediently, Harry walked for ten paces, and turned back just as Malfoy spun to face him, his midnight blue robes flaring in a way Harry would bet every knut in his Gringotts vault was helped along by a charm.

“And then we bow,” Malfoy said. He bent from the hips, keeping his back rigid, and Harry mimicked him exactly. “Forty-five degrees is considered the optimal angle to convey sincerity and respect. Less than that indicates contempt, and a deeper or more elaborate bow can be construed as mocking one’s opponent.”

Harry couldn’t help but roll his eyes at that. Malfoy glared at him from twenty paces but otherwise said nothing.

“After we bow, we fall into our combative positions.” Malfoy adjusted his stance so he held his wand out before him like a sword. “Extend your wand hand toward your opponent and place your other arm behind your back.” He briefly waggled the fingers of his left hand before tucking it neatly against the small of his back. “Angle your body just a little, your right foot before your left, leading with the shoulder of your wand arm. Your weight should be on your rear foot.”

Harry glanced down at himself. He stood facing forward, his feet a shoulder-width apart, with his wand out in his right hand and his left arm held just a little out from his side. He shrugged.

Malfoy sighed. “Potter, if you don’t mind?”

“This is how I’ve always duelled, Malfoy,” he said. “Everyone does it differently.”

“Yes,” Malfoy told him. “Some people do it right, and others do it _wrong_.”

Harry just stared at him and refused to shift his stance. 

After a few seconds, Malfoy heaved a sigh. “Fine, far be it from me to complain if you want to put yourself at a disadvantage.” He cleared his throat. “On the count of three, we begin. One, two, three!”

He cast a _Rictusempra_ and Harry threw himself out of the way of the jet of silver light. It must have just barely caught him because he giggled as he fired off a _Tarantallegra_ and followed it up with a quick _Expelliarmus_ that only just missed its mark. Malfoy twisted aside, those poncy robes of his whirling around him as he spun, and retaliated with a _Confundus_.

He’d missed duelling, Harry thought as he cast and countered, ducked and dodged and darted this way and that. Especially someone as good as Malfoy. The bastard fought with an elegant sort of viciousness that set Harry’s blood alight and had a fierce grin stretching across his face, and in that moment he loved McGonagall for forcing this to happen. Little by little, they worked their way up from the basic spells they’d learned in class years ago to spells that had more bite to them, ratcheting up the difficulty a little at a time, testing how far they could push each other. Malfoy hit Harry with something that made his skin erupt in a violent itching that nearly made him drop his wand. Harry countered it and retaliated with a spell that set off a dazzling burst of light just inches in front of Malfoy’s face, temporarily blinding him.

Malfoy lashed out with his wand and fired off a Stinging Hex that went wide. One of the students behind Harry cried out and he turned to make sure no one was injured. Even though it only took a second to glance behind him, that’s all the time Malfoy needed to press his advantage. Harry turned back around just in time for the next spell Malfoy fired off to catch him squarely in the chest. It flung him off his feet and Harry landed heavily on his back.

Groaning, took a moment to just lie there and let shock of unexpected pain fade a little before he chanced getting up. He pushed himself up on his elbows as Malfoy strode toward him.

“And that is why it is important to never let your attention lapse, even for a moment. Even the best of us may lose if our opponent exploits just one second of inattention,” Malfoy said to the students as he reached Harry. He looked down at him with cool grey eyes, his eyebrows lifted. “Well fought, Potter,” he said and held out his hand.

For a moment, Harry just stared at it. Then he gave a curt nod, reached out to take Malfoy’s hand, and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. “Nicely done, Malfoy.”

Malfoy nodded back to him, then turned to the students and carried on with his lecture, breaking down exactly what had just happened in the duel and the strengths and weaknesses of each move he and Harry had made.

He clearly knew what he was talking about, Harry thought as he listened to Malfoy break down the specifics of each spell and counter-spell in a precise and almost clinical way that Harry had to admit to himself he probably couldn’t match. It looked like Malfoy had been right, as much as Harry hated to admit it; there was a lot about duelling that Harry didn’t know.

But, Harry realized as Malfoy waved away a question from a fourth year boy, and then another from a fifth year girl, Malfoy wasn’t half the teacher that Harry was. He more than had the knowledge to help students hone their skills once they already had a grasp of the basics, but he didn’t seem to have the patience to help build that foundation. Which is where Harry would come in. He could handle teaching the basics of duelling and leave all the rest of the fussy rules and nuances to Malfoy. This was more in line with what Harry had wanted to do, anyhow. He wanted to recreate his DA experience, where he spent his time helping students to master spells and learn to defend themselves.

Harry continued to think about it as Malfoy continued to talk. And for the first time since McGonagall had called him into her office, Harry thought they might be able to make this work.

* * *

Running the Duelling Club with Malfoy wasn’t nearly as awful as Harry had assumed it’d be. After the first meeting, they’d split the class in two. Harry took the younger and less-experienced students and worked with them on one side of the room, teaching them basic duelling technique and helping them refine the spells they’d been taught in class. Malfoy took the older and more talented students, whose casting just needed a bit of fine-tuning, and he spent the hour on the other side of the room with them, pacing between practicing pairs, adjusting a wand grip here, an inflection there, and instructing them on more advanced duelling methods. Occasionally, Ron and Hermione would stop by to help out, but mostly it was just Harry and Malfoy, and Harry found that he was learning quite a lot just from listening with half an ear to Malfoy’s instruction. Not that he’d ever admit that aloud.

Once they’d settled into their routines, they hardly interacted with each other, and that was perfectly fine with Harry. Two months into it, the only time they spoke was when Harry deemed one of his students ready to advance to Malfoy’s group, or when Malfoy wanted to use Harry to demonstrate some advanced duelling method.

Today would be another of those short and surprisingly civil conversations, Harry thought. One of his sixth years was ready to join Malfoy’s group. He’d meant to speak to Malfoy about it after their club meeting on Tuesday, but it had slipped his mind. So on Friday he hurried down the hallway, hoping to catch Malfoy before any of the other students showed up. He was in luck; he rounded the corner of the seventh floor corridor to find Malfoy pacing up the empty hall. He stopped mid-stride when he caught sight of Harry.

For a long moment, they just stared at each other, then Malfoy cleared his throat. “Did you need something?”

“No, it’s fine,” Harry said, waving his hand at the blank wall. “Go on.” They’d talk once the room was ready.

Malfoy nodded sharply and turned on his heel, starting over, and Harry watched him as he paced. He’d certainly grown up well, Harry thought, his eyes sweeping over the long lines of Malfoy’s form as he strode down the hall away from Harry, his black robes sweeping behind him. From the few glimpses he’d caught in the Quidditch showers, Malfoy was hiding a very nice body beneath those severe robes, and Harry idly imagined what it’d feel like to have it pressed against his own, to have Malfoy’s arms around him, to be surrounded by his warmth. Then Malfoy turned back, his forehead creased in concentration, and Harry looked away rather than meet that unnervingly pale gaze.

It was a shame that Malfoy was so, well, _Malfoy_. But that was really for the best, wasn’t it? Malfoy might be fit as hell, but he was still such a terrible git that Harry wasn’t even tempted to think of him _that way_. Still, a small part of Harry couldn’t help but wonder what it’d be like to get close to him.

The entrance to the room appeared, sketching itself lightly across the stone before the lines deepened and broadened until the door forced itself into reality. It soundlessly swung open a few inches, as if inviting them inside.

Shaking off his inappropriate thoughts of Malfoy, Harry hurried after him. Malfoy pulled the door open and stepped inside. Harry crossed the threshold right on Malfoy’s heels and then three things happened at once: the lights went out, Harry stumbled into Malfoy’s back as he stopped short, and the door clicked shut.

There were a few moments of swearing and flailing as they both regained their balance and righted themselves. Harry swore again as his elbow slammed into a wall that he was sure wasn’t supposed to be there.

“What the fuck?”

Harry ignored Malfoy’s outburst as he fumbled for his wand and cast a _Lumos_. He found himself inside a room so small that it made his cupboard under the stairs look spacious. Even with their backs pressed against opposite walls, there was barely a foot of empty space between them. The stone walls stretched up as far as the eye could see until they faded away into darkness. Malfoy reached for the doorknob and gave it a rattle, but it wouldn’t turn. He fired off a variety of unlocking charms, but none of them had any effect.

They were trapped.

“What the fuck happened?” Harry said when Malfoy finally fell silent and tucked his wand back up his sleeve. He reached out and tried the doorknob for himself, even though he knew it wouldn’t help. And sure enough, it didn’t.

“This isn’t what I asked it for,” Malfoy said defensively.

No, it certainly wasn’t. But, Harry thought to himself with a slow sort of seeping dread, it was exactly what _he’d_ wanted. To get close to Malfoy. And… oh _fuck_. He knew how they were supposed to get out. The room wouldn’t let them go until Harry got what he wanted and what he wanted was… His gaze darted to Malfoy for a moment before he fixed it firmly on the wall beside him. He was not going to tell Malfoy that. Malfoy would _murder_ him, never mind that there wasn’t enough room to raise his wand, Malfoy would find a way.

“Er, it’s malfunctioning?” he said as his cheeks grew warm.

“Obviously,” Malfoy drawled, giving the doorknob another half-hearted rattle.

“Er, from the Fiendfyre, d’you think?” Harry suggested, eager to blame this situation on something that wasn’t him and his inappropriate thoughts about Malfoy. Really, why had the room picked up on his thoughts when Malfoy was the one pacing?

“That wasn’t my fault,” Malfoy snapped at him.

“I didn’t say it was!” Harry said.

They glared at each other for a long moment.

“Look, Potter,” Malfoy huffed. “Maybe you should just stop talking.”

Harry thought that would probably be for the best. He shut his mouth, and kept it shut as he tried to figure out a way out of this.

* * *

Harry had no idea how long he’d been trapped in here with Malfoy. None of the spells they tried had any effect, and simply wishing for the room to let them out didn’t work either. The air in the small space had grown increasingly stuffy, and he’d finally given in and wriggled out of his jumper, which involved a whole lot of awkward contorting and little bit of accidentally elbowing Malfoy in the face. Harry rolled up his sleeves and undid the top few buttons of his shirt, and let out a soft sigh of relief. Malfoy glared at him and huffed.

Harry sighed again. “What?”

“It’s hot,” Malfoy said, as if Harry couldn’t tell that from looking at him. His face had flushed pink and his hair had gone limp with sweat. His robes remained buttoned all the way up to his throat, and the fine black wool had to be stifling.

“Then take off your robes,” Harry said.

Malfoy’s chin came up a fraction. “No.”

“Then quit complaining,” Harry told him. Like that would ever happen.

“Fuck off, Potter,” Malfoy snapped at him. He shoved a hand through his damp hair and it stood up oddly on one side. Harry fought down the urge to taunt him about it.

“One or the other, Malfoy. Either take off your robes or shut your mouth.”

“I can’t,” Malfoy said.

Harry rolled his eyes again. “Well, I knew that much. If you were capable of keeping your fucking mouth shut—”

“No,” Malfoy interrupted. “I mean, _I can’t_.” He fixed his gaze on the wall just beside Harry’s head. “I’m a wizard.”

“I’ve noticed that,” Harry said dryly.

“I’m a _proper_ wizard,” Malfoy clarified, his eyes darting to Harry before sliding away again. “Unlike you.”

Harry’s hands clenched into fists. “If you’re going to lecture me on blood purity you can just—”

“I’m not wearing anything under them,” Malfoy said. He gave a haughty sniff. “It ruins the lines.”

Harry blinked at him. “So you’re, er…”

“Yes.”

“Not even, um…”

“No.”

“Bloody hell.” Harry felt a bit faint, and he couldn’t quite blame it on the stuffy warmth of the small room.

Malfoy glared at him. “Shut up.”

Harry swallowed and tried not to think about the fact that Malfoy was standing less than a foot away from him, not wearing any pants. “Right.” Malfoy, _not wearing any pants_ , standing less than a foot away. “Er. Right.”

Harry wished his imagination would stop giving him images. That was what had got him into this mess in the first place.

* * *

Harry had been thinking hard about how they were supposed to get out of here. Obviously the room had picked up on what he wanted to do to Malfoy and tried to fulfill his wishes, and the thought of explaining any of those wishes to Malfoy made him feel slightly ill. He was a normal teenaged boy, with normal teenaged boy urges. Just, wanting to do those things to his schoolyard nemesis wasn’t quite normal, probably, and Harry really didn’t want Malfoy to hex him. And Malfoy would definitely hex him if he knew what Harry was thinking about.

( _No pants!_ Harry’s traitorous brain cheerfully supplied.)

But, as time went on, there was one idea that came to Harry that gave him hope. What if the room had interpreted his wishes literally? When the room had formed, Harry had been thinking that he’d like to get close to Malfoy, and know what Malfoy’s body felt like against his own. What if it was just that simple?

“I have an idea,” Harry said eventually.

“There’s a first,” Malfoy drawled.

Harry ignored him and went on, “You’re probably not going to like it.”

“You say that as if I’ve ever liked anything you’ve said.”

Harry scowled at him. “Can you stop being an arse to me, just for five minutes?”

“You’re right,” Malfoy sniffed. “I don’t like it.”

The familiar urge to punch Malfoy in the face rose up, and Harry wrestled it back down with some effort. The thing that really stopped him was the knowledge that, with the room as cramped as it was, he probably wouldn’t have enough space to get in a good enough swing to make it worthwhile. 

“I think I know how to get out of here,” he said.

“Why didn’t you say?” Malfoy demanded. “What is it?”

“I was just thinking,” Harry began again and paused, expecting another sneered comment from Malfoy, but to his surprise none came. “I just thought that maybe the castle is trying to force us to get along.”

Malfoy frowned at him. “Why on earth would you think that?”

“Well, it’s just that it’s what McGonagall’s trying to do,” Harry said. “And I’ve always thought that Hogwarts is sort of sentient. Maybe it’s picked up on that and is trying to force us together.”

“So, what? You think the castle has locked us in here until we kiss and make up?” Malfoy sneered. “Don’t be absurd.”

Harry’s eyes slid down to Malfoy’s mouth before he could stop himself. He hurriedly looked away. “Erm, no. Not kissing. Just, er. Maybe… a hug? To, you know, show that we’re trying? Or something.” He could feel his cheeks growing warm. “Forget it, it’s a stupid idea.”

There was a very long minute where Malfoy stared at him, and Harry resisted the urge shift in place, or look away, or do anything else that might make him seem guilty.

“It certainly is a stupid idea,” Malfoy said at last. “But we haven’t come up with anything better.” He sighed. “Very well, then. Let’s try it. And if you tell anyone about this…”

“Why would I want to?” Harry scoffed. “Let’s get it over with.”

He spread his arms as much as he was able in the narrow space, and Malfoy stepped forward, hesitated, then closed the last few inches between them and put his arms around Harry. Harry slid his own arms around Malfoy’s narrow waist, and had a few glorious moments lost in the warm pressure of Malfoy’s body against his own before the door clicked open.

Malfoy sprang away from him as if burned and shoved the door open. “Thank Merlin!” he exclaimed.

“You’re welcome,” Harry muttered, blinking in the sudden brightness of the light from the hall as he followed Malfoy out.

“Harry!” Hermione exclaimed, rushing over to him. “What happened? We’ve been trying to get in for ages.”

“The room’s malfunctioning,” Harry said, pitching his voice to carry to the students gathered around the hall. “I think we’d better cancel the meeting for tonight so I can go talk to McGonagall about it.”

“Oh,” Hermione said. “What happened? Would you like us to come with you?”

“Er…” Harry began, trying to come up with the best way to get her to leave off it. It was bad enough that he was going to have to explain to McGonagall what was going on, he certainly didn’t need an audience.

“I’m sure we can handle it,” Malfoy told her.

“Actually, I think I’ve got it,” Harry said. “You don’t have to come along.”

For a moment, Malfoy just stared at him, then shrugged. “Fine,” he said. “See you Friday, unless I hear otherwise.”

He strode off down the hall and Harry’s eyes drifted to his backside. A second later he realized what he was doing, wrenched his gaze away, and gave himself a mental kick because that’s what had started the whole bloody thing.

“Well,” he said. “I guess I’ll go then.” He nodded once to Hermione, and set off toward the Headmistress’s office.

* * *

Two weeks after the hugging incident, there’d been no further malfunction with the room. Harry had explained the situation to McGonagall in as little detail as possible, and they’d decided that it was most likely safe to continue, with the precaution that only one person should be anywhere near the Room of Requirement while summoning it for use. So far, everything had been fine.

Harry sighed and stretched his arms over his head, twisting in place to work the tension from his shoulders. It’d been another long evening of Duelling Club, and he hadn’t slept well the night before. He’d tossed and turned for hours, and then finally dropped off into sleep only to find himself stuck in a truly bizarre dream where he’d been taking a bath and his rubber duck had begun speaking to him in Malfoy’s voice. Sighing, Harry stretched again and his right shoulder gave a satisfying pop. Right now all he wanted was a long hot shower and eight uninterrupted hours with his bed.

“You all right to finish up in here?” he called to where Malfoy was neatly stacking padded mats against the far wall with precise flicks of his wand.

Malfoy paused, aimed a half-hearted sneer over his shoulder, then went back to stacking the mats.

“Right,” Harry muttered to himself as he left. “I’ll see you Tuesday, then.”

He made it halfway down the hall before he remembered that he’d taken off his jumper and tossed it aside as he helped a pair of fifth years with their Shield Charms. He was tempted to leave it, but had no idea if the room would save it for him for next time or if it might disappear forever as the room changed. It was his newest Weasley jumper, soft forest green wool with a big letter H stitched onto the front in turquoise, and he didn’t want to risk losing it. Sighing, Harry turned around to go back.

Harry opened the door and startled Malfoy, who’d just been reaching for the doorknob. Malfoy jumped back, his lips parted on a sharp inhalation of surprise, and his mouth looked so soft and pink that Harry had the ridiculous urge to kiss him.

“Sorry,” Harry said, stepping over the threshold and looking everywhere but at Malfoy. “Forgot my jumper.”

As soon as he stepped into the room, the lights went out, the door clicked shut after him, and Harry bumped into a wall where there certainly hadn’t been a wall just seconds earlier.

“Oh bloody hell, not again,” Malfoy snarled, taking the words right out of Harry’s mouth. Harry heard him rattle the doorknob.

“ _Lumos_ ,” Harry said, and sure enough found himself trapped in the same small room with Malfoy, with barely a foot between them. Malfoy scowled at him, and Harry sighed and rolled his eyes. “Don’t look at me like that, it’s not so bad.”

“Not so bad?” Malfoy repeated like he expected he’d misheard. “We’re trapped again. How exactly is that not so bad?”

“I don’t know,” he said, trying to ignore the fact that this was mostly likely his fault. Again. “It’s sort of cozy. And oh, look. Here’s my jumper.” Harry bent down to try and reach his jumper, and ended up with his face pressed awkwardly against Malfoy’s midsection. “Erm, sorry. Just a little…” He reached, twisted a little in place, reached, and his shoulder brushed over Malfoy’s crotch.

Malfoy jerked back, even though he had nowhere to go. “Bloody hell, what are you even doing? Are you cold? Are you going to _put on_ the fucking thing?”

Harry stood up straight and clutched the jumper to his chest. “Er,” he said. “No?”

“Merlin’s pants,” Malfoy spat. “Let’s just get this over with.” He spread his arms as much as he was able.

“Er,” said Harry. “What?”

Malfoy wiggled his fingers. “Get on with it, Potter. I’d like to get out of here tonight, please.”

Right. Because last time the room had let them out after they’d hugged. It wouldn’t this time, because Harry hadn’t been thinking about hugging Malfoy; he’d been thinking of kissing him. But he couldn’t say that without letting Malfoy know this was his fault. Nothing else to be done for it, then. Harry took half a step forward and slid his arms around Malfoy’s waist, and felt Malfoy’s arms close around his back. Malfoy’s body was warm against his, and Harry’s chin fit perfectly over Malfoy’s shoulder. Harry bit back a sigh and resisted the urge to press himself closer. He reminded himself that Malfoy was a stupid git. A stupid git who also happened to be very attractive. And very warm, and whose body fit perfectly against Harry’s. And he smelled sort of nice.

A moment later, Malfoy reached out and jiggled the doorknob. His other arm tightened around Harry and he jiggled the doorknob again.

“It’s not working,” Malfoy said.

No, it wasn’t. But that was because Harry hadn’t been thinking about hugging him this time. Instead he’d been thinking about—

“That means you can let go of me, Potter,” Malfoy said.

Harry jumped back, his heels catching against the opposite wall, and he stumbled. “Er. Right, sorry.”

They lapsed into silence. After a while, Malfoy sighed and took out his wand, then began casting unlocking charms at the door.

“That didn’t work last time,” Harry couldn’t help but point out.

“What else can I do?” Malfoy demanded. “Have you got a better suggestion? I’d like to get out of here some time this century.”

That was as good an opening as Harry thought he was likely to get. “Not _better_ , really. But I do…”

Malfoy stopped casting. “Well, let’s hear it.”

“Well…” Harry took a deep breath. “You know how last time you said we could try to, erm, kiss and make up? Well, what if we did that sort of more… literally.”

To Harry’s surprise, Malfoy laughed. But when Harry remained quiet he quickly sobered.

“You’re serious?” he asked. “You can’t be… that doesn’t even make sense!”

“I was right about the hugging,” Harry said a bit petulantly.

“It’s not happening,” Malfoy said curtly. “It’s _never_ happening. I’d rather die in here than kiss you.”

Harry thought that was a bit extreme. “Fine,” he said. “Die in here, then.”

Malfoy went back to casting at the door. After a few minutes he stopped. He lowered his wand. He heaved a sigh. Harry watched him quietly, ready to cast a Shield Charm at a moment’s notice if Malfoy turned that wand his way.

“Fuck. Fucking hell,” Malfoy said at last, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. He sighed and dropped his hand away from his face as he looked up at Harry. “If you ever tell anyone about this…” he began.

“I won’t,” Harry said.

“I mean it, Potter,” Malfoy told him. “Not even your little friends.”

“Why would I _want_ to? Do you really think that kissing you is something worth bragging about?” Harry asked. “I’ll be lucky if I don’t need to _Obliviate_ myself after.” Which really was the truth, because Harry was pretty sure that if he kissed Malfoy he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about it. Maybe Ron would be willing to do it for him. Ron was a good friend, and what are good friends for if not to Obliviate the fuck out of each other from time to time?

“Fine,” Malfoy said, glaring at Harry.

And then before Harry could say anything else, he lunged forward and mashed his mouth to Harry’s in a kiss that fell somewhere between violent and chaste. Startled, Harry jerked back so quickly that he knocked the back of his head painfully against the wall. 

“What the fuck was that?” he demanded as Malfoy glared sullenly at the door.

“Clearly it didn’t work,” Malfoy muttered, trying the doorknob again.

“Maybe because you bloody well _attacked me_ ,” Harry pointed out, rubbing at his mouth. “I think you’re supposed to be nice about it.”

Malfoy pinched the bridge of his nose again. “Fucking hell, how did this happen?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “This sort of thing is fairly typical for me, actually. I mean, not getting trapped in a tiny room with people I don’t like and being forced to kiss them to escape, but, you know. Weird shit is always happening to me.” He shrugged. “I just sort of go with it.”

“Well next time, kindly leave me out of it,” Malfoy said. He heaved a gusty sigh. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

He leaned closer, and Harry leaned closer, and Malfoy leaned closer still.

Harry felt the gentle exhale of Malfoy’s breath over his mouth just before their lips met. His mouth was every bit as soft and warm as Harry had imagined it would be. Slowly, cautiously, Harry moved his mouth against Malfoy’s, parting his lips slightly and feeling Malfoy mirror the movement. Here he was, kissing Draco bloody Malfoy, and Harry felt like the whole bloody world had stopped making sense. He put one hand on Malfoy’s shoulder to steady himself, and thought that he could feel Malfoy’s skin burning through the fabric of his robes. Malfoy made a soft sound in the back of his throat and Harry flinched as he felt a hand slide against the small of his back, urging him closer. Harry pressed himself nearer and slid his hand from Malfoy’s shoulder up around the back of his neck, his fingertips brushing the fine blond strands of Malfoy’s hair. When Malfoy’s tongue flicked against his lower lip, gentle and almost hesitant, Harry shivered.

The lock clicked and the door swung open, and Malfoy drew back slowly, looking flushed and faintly dazed. Harry could tell the exact moment he regained control of himself; his eyes hardened and his mouth pressed into a firm line. He pushed Harry away and stalked out of the room, and Harry followed him into the hall.

“The castle is a pervert!” Malfoy said, tossing a glare over his shoulder at the doorway.

“Maybe it’s just trying to, er…” How exactly had McGonagall phrased it? “It’s trying to set an example for interhouse cooperation?”

Malfoy turned that glare on him. “That’s the stupidest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Is it?” Harry asked, folding his arms over his chest. He put his chin up. “Is it really? Because it’s the Room of Requirement, Malfoy, and that means the alternative is that you _wanted_ to kiss me.” He felt sort of ridiculous accusing Malfoy about what he was guilty of himself, but the words came out before he really stopped to think about it.

Malfoy’s mouth worked open and shut. “Right,” he said at last. “Interhouse cooperation it is.”

For a moment, Harry froze. He’d expected Malfoy to argue with him. To scoff at his suggestion, because it really was the stupidest fucking thing Harry had ever heard, and he was the one who’d bloody well said it. But instead Malfoy had _agreed_ with it, and was now just standing there, eyes focused a little above and to the left of Harry’s head.

“Malfoy,” he said slowly, still a little stunned by the impossibility of it all. “Do you… You didn’t _really_ want to kiss me. Did you?”

“Of course not,” Malfoy snapped even as his cheeks pinked. “Don’t be absurd.”

“Malfoy…” Harry began.

“I hate you,” Malfoy snapped, glaring at him with such intensity that Harry thought he could feel the force of it itching at his skin. “Or have you somehow managed to forget?”

“I haven’t, as if you’d ever let me forget,” Harry shot back. He knew Malfoy hated him, but Harry also knew how it was possible to hate someone and still want to snog them senseless. “Look, I’m trying to be nice—”

“Well, stop it,” Malfoy cut in. “Stay away from me, Potter. I want nothing to do with you.”

And before Harry could say another word, Malfoy turned on his heel and strode away.

* * *

The next club meeting was uneventful, much to Harry’s relief. They’d got a new member the week before, a slight fourth year witch whom Harry would swear was a Finnegan relative based on the number of explosions that seemed to happen around her. But this Friday, everything had gone smoothly and nothing had exploded. Ron had accompanied Harry to the meeting today, and Malfoy used him to demonstrate the proper technique for catching an opponent off-guard with a Jelly-Legs Jinx, much to Harry’s mingled relief and irritation.

On the one hand, it irritated Harry that Malfoy was keeping true to his word when he’d said he wanted nothing more to do with Harry; so far this meeting he’d neither looked at nor spoken to him. But on the other hand it was really nice to not to be hexed repeatedly and have his legs collapse out from under him. Although, thinking about it, having his legs collapse out from under him would have been a welcome distraction from watching Malfoy duel. He fought like he did everything else: precisely, elegantly, and with a casual sort of ruthlessness that Harry still found a little startling. In any case, it wasn’t helping Harry to forget the kissing incident. It was also making him question his sanity.

After they finished up for the evening, the students left in laughing, chatting groups, leaving Harry and Malfoy to clear up. Ron stayed behind to help as well.

“I don’t get why you can’t get the room to clear itself up,” Ron grumbled as he and Harry worked together to haul a large wooden target over by the wall.

“Tried it,” Harry grunted as he gave the target one final shove into place. “Came back the next time to find everything exactly where we’d left it.”

“Or why you won’t use magic, at least.”

Harry grinned at him as he dusted off his hands on his thighs. “That’s mostly just to irritate Malfoy. He’s got this longwinded speech about the inefficiencies of moving things like a Muggle. It’s pretty entertaining. I can practically say it along with him at this point.” He glanced across the room where Malfoy was stacking mats against the wall. “Sometimes I do, just to annoy him.”

Ron snorted. “Do you think you’ll ever stop basing your actions on what will or won’t arse off Malfoy?”

“Probably not. But to be fair, I don’t think he will, either.”

Ron laughed, and Malfoy leveled a suspicious stare at the two of them from across the room. Harry waggled his fingers at him, and Malfoy glared at him for a few seconds longer before turning pointedly away.

“What a prat,” Ron said. “I don’t see how you can stand working with him.”

“He’s not so bad. Well, most of the time,” Harry said. “Like when he’s over on the other side of the room. Or when he keeps his mouth shut.” Or when he’s got his mouth occupied in other ways, Harry’s brain piped up. Harry told his brain to shut it. “That does it, I think. Malfoy usually does the rest on his own.”

“Thank Merlin,” Ron said, starting for the door.

“See you, Malfoy!” Harry called to him as they passed by.

Malfoy didn’t even look up. And even though Harry hadn’t expected a response, he was still irritated to have Malfoy ignore him.

“You know,” Harry said, slowing his steps. “You’re going to have to talk to me sometime.”

“Potter, if I had my way about it, I’d never talk to you again,” Malfoy said without turning around, his voice dripping venom in a way it hadn’t since before the war.

And just like always, Harry’s temper frayed. “You’re being ridiculously childish about this, you know.”

Malfoy spun around to face him, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “I think I’ve been remarkably mature, given the circumstances, because right now I’d like nothing more than to hex your bollocks off,” he said. “There’s no one in this world I hate more than I hate you, yet here I am helping you to run your stupid little club. I’ve bitten my tongue and been civil to you and played along with your little friends, and what did that get me?”

“Nothing you didn’t already want, I’d wager,” Harry taunted.

“Oh, _fuck off_ you stupid bastard.” Malfoy turned away again.

Still fuming, Harry stalked after Ron, then paused just shy of the door. Frowning, Ron hesitated in the hall, glancing back to where Harry had stopped. Harry turned back to look at Malfoy, then squeezed his eyes shut and _concentrated_. I want to know what Malfoy wants from me, he thought, and I don’t want to be let out until he admits it.

There was a startled yelp, and when Harry opened his eyes he saw only darkness. He allowed himself a small, smug smile before he shook his wand free from his sleeve and said, “ _Lumos_.”

“Fucking hell,” Malfoy said.

Harry just watched him. He wasn’t going to be the one to say it this time. Malfoy sighed, cast a couple of half-hearted unlocking charms at the door, and sighed again.

“I suppose we should…?” he said.

“We should what?” Harry asked, trying to sound innocent.

The way Malfoy’s eyes narrowed told him that Harry hadn’t managed to fool him. “Your suggestion,” he ground out. “Since it worked so well last time.”

“Hm?” Harry said, his gaze wandering down to Malfoy’s mouth. Suddenly, winding up Malfoy lost much of its appeal, especially since there seemed to be a much better way of getting him all riled.

Malfoy leaned in and kissed him, a quick warm press of lips, then drew back for a split second before he leaned in again and did it properly. He kissed Harry slowly, carefully exploring the shape of his mouth, and Harry let him. Malfoy’s hands went to Harry’s waist, settling just above his hipbones, his fingers stroking gently. Harry tipped his head a little to the side and kissed Malfoy back, and it was the most wonderful thing he’d ever done. He’d well and truly lost his mind, he thought.

“Maybe we should…” Harry mumbled against Malfoy’s mouth before Malfoy pressed in again and dragged his tongue along Harry’s lower lip. That was more than fine with Harry. He couldn’t remember what he’d been about to say, anyhow.

Harry slid his arms around Malfoy’s waist and urged him closer as he obediently opened his mouth to Malfoy. Malfoy’s tongue licked against his, and Harry moaned and tightened his arms around him. Malfoy’s hands slid up his back, one curling around his shoulder while the other slid up his neck to tangle in his hair. Harry felt himself growing hard and was distantly embarrassed by it until Malfoy’s groin brushed against his and Harry discovered that Malfoy was just as affected as he was. Harry slid his hands from Malfoy’s waist to his hips and pulled them closer against each other, tilting his hips up to press his erection more firmly against Malfoy’s. Malfoy responded by slamming him back against the wall and grinding their cocks together. He bit at Harry’s lower lip, then pulled back a little.

“I don’t understand why this isn’t working. It worked before.” Malfoy dove back in without giving Harry a chance to reply, all teeth and tongue and his hands sliding down the length of Harry’s back to grope his arse, and Harry lost himself in the brilliant insanity that was snogging Malfoy.

“Er,” said Harry when they parted again a minute later. “That might be my fault.” He tried to recapture Malfoy’s mouth, but Malfoy drew back and stopped Harry from coming after him with a hand to his chest.

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do?” he said suspiciously.

“It’s your fault too,” Harry said quickly. “Well, sort of. I just wanted to find out what you want from me, so I asked the room…” He trailed off, but Malfoy just kept staring at him, so Harry went on. “Look, I wouldn’t have had to do it if you’d just talk to me.” Malfoy continued to stare. “I just wanted to know,” he finished defensively. He folded his arms over his chest.

“You mean, it’s been you? This has been you all along? You’ve been asking the Room of Requirement to do this to us?” Malfoy’s narrowed eyes slowly widened. “Potter, you fucking idiot.”

“I’m not—”

“You have no idea what you’ve done, do you?”

Harry put his chin up. “I’ve made it so you’ve got to be honest for once in your life.”

“Oh, you want honesty, do you?” Malfoy asked, and his eyes glittered dangerously in the dim light of Harry’s _Lumos_. “You stupid fucking Gryffindor. I hate you. I _despise_ you. I think you’re arrogant and insufferable and so infuriatingly virtuous. I want to pull you down off the pedestal the whole world’s put you on and… you’ve absolutely no idea about the things I want to do to you.”

Harry’s mouth had gone dry. He licked his lip, and watched Malfoy’s eyes followed the motion. “What do you want to do to me?”

“I want to fuck you,” Malfoy said, and the combination of crude phrasing and posh accent went straight to Harry’s cock.

“Oh,” said Harry. “That’s…” The rest of the sentence evaporated as Harry’s brain provided him with a lovely array of mental images.

“But I don’t just want to fuck you, Potter. I want to make you beg for it, first.” Malfoy reached out and his hands encircled Harry’s wrists and pinned them against the wall. He leaned in close. “I want to tie you down, and pull the ropes so tight around your hands that your fingertips tingle.” His hands squeezed around Harry’s wrists, and Harry let his head drop back against the wall. Malfoy leaned closer still, his cheek brushing against Harry’s, and his warm breath tickled Harry’s ear. His voice dropped to a rough whisper. “I want to touch every inch of you until you’re a trembling wreck and you’re just _begging_ me for more.”

“Oh,” said Harry again, and this time it came out as more of a breathy moan than an actual word.

“Or maybe I won’t. Maybe I won’t touch you at all. Maybe I’d rather strip you down, then step back and watch as you finger yourself, pushing your slick fingers into your arse and fucking yourself while I watch, knowing that you’re opening yourself up for me. Would you like that, Potter? I wonder, have you fucked yourself with your own fingers before?”

It took Harry a moment to work out that Malfoy expected an answer to that. “I… sometimes, yes.”

Malfoy’s mouth curled in a slow smirk that made Harry want to punch him in the face and snog him breathless all at once. Malfoy’s face was just inches from his, so it seemed easier to do the latter. He kissed Malfoy, hot and open-mouthed, and Malfoy turned his face away after a moment, nipping his way along Harry’s jaw back to his ear.

“I wonder what they’d all say, if they knew what you did. Perfect Potter, the Boy Who Lived, fucking himself on his own fingers like a little slut. What do you think about when you do that?”

Harry grabbed Malfoy by his robes and pulled him closer. He was so hard he ached. He absolutely wasn’t going to admit that lately, he’d been thinking of Malfoy.

Malfoy bit at his mouth. “Do you think of having a big, hard cock stretch you open? Do you fantasize about lying back and just fucking taking it like a needy little—”

Harry couldn’t stand to hear anything more. He lunged forward and caught Malfoy’s mouth with his own in a deep kiss, and Malfoy met it eagerly. They snogged for ages, until Harry’s lips were slick with Malfoy’s spit, until his jaw ached and he was so hard it was almost painful. Slowly, he broke the kiss and drew back.

“Are we… fuck, Malfoy. Are we really doing this?” Harry’s voice shook. His stomach twisted in a strange mix of anxiety and excitement. He couldn’t quite believe this was happening, or how much he wanted it. How much he wanted Malfoy.

Malfoy looked at him for a long moment. “Is that what you want?”

Harry shifted in place. “Er, is it what you want?”

“What do you think?” Malfoy asked with a pointed glance down.

Harry looked down to where Malfoy’s erection tented the front of his robes. “You’re ruining the lines,” he said stupidly.

Malfoy only smirked. “Then I suppose you’d better take them off me,” he said.

He wasn’t going to push Harry to have sex with him, Harry realized. He wasn’t going to seize control and force things to happen the way he wanted them to happen, like in any of the scenarios he described. No, Malfoy was going to make Harry come to him. Malfoy was going to make him beg for it, exactly as he’d said he would. And in that moment, Harry didn’t know which of them he hated more: Malfoy for making him do it, or himself for how desperately he wanted it.

His fingers fumbled with the long row of tiny buttons down the front of Malfoy’s robes in his haste to get them undone. It took ages to get each little button free, and then Harry had to take a deep breath and steel himself to part the robes and slide them from Malfoy’s shoulders, brushing his fingertips over smooth pale skin as he did.

“Now you,” Malfoy said.

He stroked his erection as Harry yanked off his jumper and shirt at once, losing his glasses in the process, and pushed his trousers and pants down. He kicked them off completely.

“Turn around.”

Harry hesitated. Even though he knew what was coming, he was still reluctant to put his back to Malfoy.

Malfoy stopped stroking himself and reached out, curling his hand firmly around Harry’s throat. “I said,” he told Harry very slowly and precisely, “turn around.”

The rational part of Harry wanted to knock Malfoy’s hand away; the part of him that was in control right now pressed his throat more firmly against Malfoy’s palm and revelled in the sick thrill of putting himself in the hands of someone he didn’t quite trust.

Harry turned around, and waited.

Malfoy’s fingers rubbed approvingly over his pulse before his hand fell away, trailing lightly down his spine. Harry shivered. Malfoy’s hand continued lower, lower, and his fingers slid down between the cleft of Harry’s arse, rubbing firmly over his hole. He leaned forward, the hot skin of his chest pressing against Harry’s back, the hard length of him bumping against the backs of Harry’s thighs. Malfoy slid an arm around Harry’s middle to hold him in place.

“I’d like to eat your arse,” he said, punctuating his sentence with a nip to Harry’s ear. “I’d like to work you open with my tongue, get you all loose and wet for me.”

“Oh,” Harry moaned, picturing himself slick and open and ready for Malfoy to take him.

There was a sudden clatter, and Harry looked down to see a small jar on the floor where there hadn’t been anything just a moment earlier. He bent down with some difficulty and picked it up, and gave a breathless laugh.

“Lube,” he said. “Looks like the castle really is a pervert.”

Malfoy took it from him and unscrewed the cap, and his fingers were cool and slippery when they rubbed against Harry’s arsehole again, circling and teasing gently, and Harry rocked back against him.

“Like that, do you?” Malfoy murmured against the back of his neck. His other hand slid around to Harry’s front, curled loosely around his cock, and stroked as he pressed inside with one finger. 

Harry groaned and rocked back against him as Malfoy worked that finger in and out of him for a few seconds before adding a second. Harry let his forehead drop against the cool stone wall and lost himself in the intoxicating burn of his body stretching open for Malfoy, and of Malfoy’s hand on his cock. Harry pushed himself up on his toes and arched his back as much as he could to get Malfoy to press those brilliant fingers of his deeper inside. Malfoy’s breath was coming hard by now, and he gave a soft little groan as he pulled his fingers free of Harry. He slicked himself up, his hand making soft slick sounds as he stroked his cock, and Harry’s breath caught because he knew what would come next.

Scant seconds later he felt the tip of Malfoy’s cock pressed against his opening.

“Potter?” Malfoy’s voice cut through the haze of pleasure clouding Harry’s brain. “Is this… are you all right with this?”

Harry rocked back against him, and Malfoy’s cock slid over his arsehole and up over his tailbone. Harry rocked back again. “If you stop now and I swear I’ll hex your cock off.”

Malfoy’s breath was warm on Harry’s shoulder as he huffed out a soft laugh. “Kinky, Potter,” he said. “But I’m serious. If you’re only doing this because—”

“Bloody hell, will you just shut the fuck up and fuck me already?”

In response, Malfoy bit lightly at his shoulder and realigned his cock against Harry’s arse. He hesitated for a moment, then pushed inside in one long, slow thrust.

“Oh, fuck, oh fuck. Malfoy,” Harry panted, pushing back against him.

Malfoy grunted and let go of Harry’s cock to grasp his hips with both hands. He drew out and thrust back in, over and over, and Harry let his head fall back as he gave himself over to it. He reached down and began to tug at his cock in time with Malfoy’s thrusts, unable to keep himself from moaning wantonly. He felt so full, stretched wide around Malfoy’s cock, with every nerve in his body pulled tight and thrumming.

“You like this,” Malfoy gasped against his neck. His fingers curled tighter around Harry’s hips. “Fuck, you like this.” There was an awed tone to his voice, like he couldn’t quite believe it.

“Yes,” Harry said, squeezing his eyes shut and pulling harder at his cock. “Yes, yes. I just, Malfoy, yes.”

The wet sounds of Malfoy’s cock sliding into Harry’s arse and the sharp slap of skin against skin sounded obscenely loud in the small room. Harry’s breathy moans, Malfoy’s sharp gasps, it was all too much. They’d barely been at it a couple of minutes but already Harry could feel his balls drawing up as the pleasure coursing through him coiled up into something hot and tight and urgent.

“Malfoy,” he panted. “I’m close, I’m gonna…”

“Do it,” Malfoy growled. He thrust faster, his strokes going hard and deep, and Harry could barely breathe. “Come on, Potter, do it.”

And Harry did. His climax hit him hard and fast, all his muscles going taut and trembling as he spurted over his fingers, his come hitting the wall and dribbling down. Malfoy thrust for a few more frantic seconds before his own climax hit, and his fingers tightened so hard around Harry’s hips that he knew he’d have bruises. And if he hadn’t already just come, the idea of Malfoy marking him might’ve sent him over the edge.

For long moments, they leaned against each other as their breathing returned to normal. Then Malfoy moved back a little and his cock slipped free of Harry’s body, leaving Harry feeling loose and achingly empty. He clenched his arse and missed the feeling of being filled up.

“Merlin, Potter,” Malfoy breathed against the back of Harry’s neck. “I’ve wanted you like this for ages.”

“Like what?” Harry asked, resting his forehead against the cool stone of the wall. He didn’t think he could stand to look Malfoy in the eye just yet.

Malfoy’s teeth scraped over the curve where his neck became his shoulder and his warm hand spread possessively over Harry’s stomach. “Like this, naked and submissive and _mine_.”

Part of Harry bristled at being called submissive, but he was too warm and drowsy to argue about it right now. “Mm,” he said instead.

Neither of them noticed that the door had clicked open until it suddenly swung open all the way, the bright light of the hallway falling over them. For a moment, Ron just stared at them, stricken, and then he shook his head and very carefully shut the door again.

“No, don’t!” Harry cried, trying to disentangle himself from Malfoy.

But he was too late; the door clicked shut. Harry yanked at the handle, but the door wouldn’t budge.

“Oh, fuck,” he said.

“Yes,” sighed Malfoy. “I suppose so. Give me ten minutes and I’ll be ready to go again.”

* * *

By the time they finally got the door open again thirty minutes later, Harry was thoroughly exhausted and still reeling from the utter insanity of what he’d just done.

“Erm,” he said. “Well…”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Oh, don’t even start,” he said. “I won’t have you going all blushing-virgin on me.”

“I’m not,” Harry protested. He absolutely wasn’t blushing. Or, he thought as he felt his cheeks warm, at least he _hadn’t_ been.

“Right, Potty,” Malfoy said with one of those infuriating smirks of his. “So, how do you plan to explain this one to McGonagall?”

Harry felt his brain seize up at the thought of having to explain that he’d just let Malfoy shag him, to bloody McGonagall, of all people. “Er, I wasn’t?”

“Hm,” Malfoy said, eyeing Harry appraisingly. “I’d have assumed you’d want to get the malfunctioning room sorted out.”

“But…” Harry began, because he was pretty sure he’d told Malfoy that he’d been the one behind the room’s odd behavior.

“Although, now that we’ve worked out how to get out of there…” Malfoy said, letting the rest of the sentence hang unspoken as he shrugged a shoulder.

Harry frowned at him. “You mean, if we ever get trapped in there again?”

“More like _when_ , knowing your luck. Strange shit really does always happen to you, doesn’t it?”

“Erm…” said Harry, trying to work through what Malfoy was saying, because he couldn’t be saying what Harry thought he was saying.

Malfoy nodded to him like he’d said something coherent. “Well, who am I to argue with Hogwarts?” He paused a beat, but Harry had no idea how to respond to that because he was pretty sure that Malfoy would argue with Merlin himself, if he was in a mood. Malfoy sighed. “I’m only willing to tolerate it in the interest of interhouse cooperation, you understand. I still hate you.”

“Right,” Harry said, and he couldn’t help but grin. “Of course.”

Malfoy nodded to him. “See you around, Potter.”

Harry watched him go. He had a feeling he’d be seeing a lot more of Malfoy from now on.

* * *

Harry was still smiling as he walked into the Gryffindor common room and found Ron sitting on their usual sofa near the fire. He flopped down next to him, but before he could say a word, Ron stabbed a finger in his direction.

“No,” he said. “Not a word out of you. I’m not going to ask because I don’t want to _know_.” 

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Harry said. “You pretty much saw everything, anyhow.”

Ron shuddered. “Don’t remind me.” He paused, fidgeted, and cast a hesitant glance at Harry. “I’m just sort of confused about one thing. You and Malfoy hate each other.”

“Apparently hating each other and having brilliant sex are not mutually exclusive,” Harry said. He settled back against the cushions and stretched his legs out. Bloody hell, he felt good. If he’d known that orgasms with Malfoy were like this, he’d probably have jumped him years ago. He glanced over at the look of nauseated horror on Ron’s face and couldn’t resist adding, “ _Twice_.”

Ron made a small noise of despair.

“That was your fault, you know,” Harry went on, enjoying his friend’s discomfort more by the minute. “If you hadn’t shut the door—”

“If I hadn’t shut the door,” Ron interrupted, “I would have done something we’d all regret.”

“Like what? Joined us?” Harry thought he really shouldn’t find the expression Ron made at that nearly as amusing as he did. So, like any good friend would, he took pity on Ron and offered, “Do you want me to _Obliviate_ you?”

Ron nodded eagerly. “Yes, please.”

A few seconds later, Harry settled back against the cushions, and Ron blinked at him.

“Sorry,” Harry said. “Duelling club ran a little late.”

Ron glanced at the clock on the wall above the fireplace. “Really? This late?”

“Well, I was with Malfoy, actually.”

“With Malfoy?” Ron’s brow furrowed. “Doing what?”

“Er,” said Harry. “We were working on our interhouse cooperation.”

“Ah,” Ron said, nodding along even though the glance he gave Harry was somewhat suspicious. “That’s good, I suppose, that you’re getting along with him. I thought McGonagall had lost her mind when she said she wanted you two to work together to force you to get along, but it looks like she knew what she was doing.”

Harry thought about that. Now that they had another outlet, he suspected he wouldn’t be fighting with Malfoy nearly as much, though he was pretty sure that this wasn’t exactly how McGonagall had envisioned them settling their differences. “Yeah,” he said with a smile. “I suppose she did.”

**Author's Note:**

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